Where Life Leads
by molamola
Summary: Olivia hadn't planned on showing up at the Bishops' door that night, and she certainly hadn't planned on shaving her legs first.  Post-ep for 6B


**Where Life Leads**

**Disclaimer:** Alas, Fringe, its various realities, and amazing characters, do not belong to me. I'm just playing nicely with them for a bit, and then I'll put them back, I promise.

**Spoilers:** This is a post-ep for 6B, so anything up to, and including, that episode.

**Notes:** This, my first foray into the Fringe-verse, was a birthday present for my best friend, and amazing beta, Heather. Thank-you for perusing and fixing my ramblings, and encouraging me to write and share my stories. I'm thankful every day for our friendship.

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><p>She can't quite control the slight tremble in her hands, and the razor slips along her ankle bone. Olivia watches the drops of blood disperse into the water flowing down her drain and considers them a sign of a possible chink in her armour.<p>

She certainly hadn't planned on bothering with her legs when she finally made it back to Boston and slipped into her shower to warm up. All she had wanted was to let the warmth of the water suffuse her skin and spread throughout her body. She wanted the heat to loosen her tense, sore muscles, and to help drive away some of the thoughts that swirled like a rift-formed vortex in her mind.

Her mind had been kept sufficiently occupied by her post interview with Mrs. Merchant and report to Broyles. It wasn't until Olivia was back in her car, alone and headed to Boston, that there were no longer enough distractions to prevent her brain from jumbling together the past few days' interactions with Peter, and trying to find her way out of the mess that she seemed to have made of the whole situation.

Peter and Walter had accompanied the equipment back to Massive Dynamic; while she knew that she wasn't unwelcome there, by the time she was done with Alice and Broyles Olivia had assumed that the Bishops were finished their duties, and were now also on their way home. Besides, Olivia had felt the fatigue, borne of the intensity of the both the case, and her struggle to deal with her relationship with Peter, begin to creep up on her. She had taken advantage of this brief time alone to blast her heater, and play her own music, but it also meant that her thoughts were given free rein to play.

She had kissed Peter.

He had told her that she was the one holding them back from having a relationship.

He wanted a lifetime ... and he had implied that he wanted it with her.

She had kissed Peter.

That her mind kept coming back to that particular thought hadn't surprised her too much. They had kissed for the first time Over There, only moments before the urgency of their situation had necessitated rejoining the rest of the team to make their final preparations for the return. Olivia remembered the exhilaration that kept creeping up on her all the while they travelled to the Opera House, trying to keep from brushing against him too much, from leaning into him. Trying to convince herself that it was all adrenaline and not the anticipation that, once they survived this, and got past the fallout, there would be a 'them'.

Her subsequent abduction and incarceration had all but destroyed that dream, although her Phantom-Peter had given her hope that all would not be lost. Her mind was both an amazing ally and one of her greatest nemeses; her eidetic memory had perfectly preserved his face, the feel of his stubble against her softer skin, the sound of his voice, his unique smell that she had come to associate with stability, comfort, and home, and also his taste.

Coming home was akin to leaping from the frying pan and into the fire, although Olivia hadn't realized it right away. She hadn't realized that, while she had been abducted and used on the Other Side, her life here had been similarly taken and maligned. Her dreams of building a relationship with Peter, from the foundation they had begun laying years ago and solidified at the safe house, had been stolen from her. They had been appropriated and test-driven by a woman who, despite their identical genetic makeup, was different from her in nearly every way, or at least in the ways of which Olivia was the most appallingly envious.

Olivia had reached her apartment and all but raced into the shower by the time her thoughts had come around to her talk with Peter in Barrett's yard. She had cranked the water temperature as high as she could tolerate it, and let the hot spray soak her hair and redden her skin. She had concentrated on the feel of the spray, like needles on her back, and tried not to remember the warmth of the small pub across from the Rosencrantz, a welcome anodyne to the bitter cold outside.

She had kissed Peter. She had tried to push past her anxiety, wanting to see the beauty that he saw, but she had only seen the glimmer of his Other Worldly origin. She didn't understand how it could simultaneously feel so right and so gut wrenching to be with him. How could she possibly begin to live up to the standard her double had set while she had assumed her life here?

Skin scrubbed nearly raw, Olivia had lathered up her left leg and was reaching for her razor before she had realized what she was doing. Sure, this was part of her usual shower routine, but what was the point now, anyway? Unbidden, an image of Peter, sliding his warm hand too slowly up her calf, had pushed itself into her thoughts, causing goose bumps to form despite the heat of the water.

She had kissed Peter, and she wanted to do it again. Not yet ready to leave the steamy cocoon that she had created, Olivia had set about dealing with her legs, hoping that the familiar rhythm would help to order her thoughts. She wanted to kiss him again, and yet she was the one who kept pulling back.

Her childhood had left her with scars, both physically and emotionally, and a protective suit of armour too thick for most to penetrate. Only a select few were allowed to see the Olivia within, and John Scott had been the last man who had not only shared her heart, but also her bed. Had their relationship rendered her incapable of letting in someone else, even someone she had trusted as completely as Peter?

Her hand trembles, and the razor slips, drawing beads of blood that wash down the drain. Olivia thinks about Alice Merchant, alone in her apartment, alone after a lifetime of enjoyment and adventure with her husband. She thinks about Peter's words to the widow grieving her husband for the second time, words that gave Mrs. Merchant the strength to let go once again. Could she have such a life with him?

The hot water gives out as Olivia is rinsing the remaining suds from her right leg. She quickly turns off the taps and grabs her soft, brown, oversized towel, newly bought last week. She wraps it around her body to preserve the warmth, using the ends to squeeze the water out of her hair before tucking them in and grabbing her comb.

She wants to see Peter again, soon. While this feeling had been gradually becoming more and more commonplace before he had left for the Other Side, it's the first time since she's been back that she's felt it again. However, the thought of him glimmering dampens her hope, and besides, it's very late now, too late to do anything about them.

Despite the shower, Olivia is still too wound up to sleep, so she grabs a bottle and a glass from her kitchen and flicks the radio on low as she heads for her couch. She has it tuned to an oldies station, comfort music that she remembers her mother humming to her and Rachel when they were very young. The song that is playing as she settles onto the couch and prepares to open the alcohol arrests her movements. Ella Fitzgerald is singing, but it's the same song that played on the juke box in the pub. Olivia abandons the bottle and lets the music wash over her. She never used to believe in coincidences.

She's tired of being scared. She's tired of being alone. She wants to live her own life again. She wants what he wants, and she has to tell him.

Olivia hastily pulls on clothes, and draws her hair up into a quick ponytail. The clock chides her, but it's likely that Walter will be asleep by now, and therefore she has a better chance of not being interrupted when she tries to talk to Peter. She brings the unopened bottle with her as a kind of peace offering; after all, she's the one who's been holding them back. She tells herself to keep her chin up.

When she arrives at the Bishop residence and finds out that Walter stayed behind in New York, Olivia almost changes her mind, preparing to leave the talk for a time when there's more light, and they're not so alone. The emotion that wins out, however, is an unexpected delight that she shaved her legs before coming over.

She wants what he wants.

His answering question is mostly cautious curiosity, but, hidden beneath the surface, Olivia can sense the dare. It's a hint of a challenge, that harkens back to the very early days of their partnership, when they weren't quite friends, but at least on the same side of the law. While she appreciates that he's still allowing her the lead, she's also never been one to back down from a confrontation, at least not until the past few months. It feels better than good to once again experience that rush of inner fortitude, and even more so to lean into him and taste his lips for the third time.

Olivia pauses to breathe, and can't help herself from searching his face for the glow that should be there. All she sees are the shadows of the dimly lit room playing across his skin, his blue eyes full of questions, but also of love. The glow is gone, lost with her fear, and Olivia can finally decide to go where life leads her.

She grabs on tight to her rediscovered strength with a barely contained joy, tempered only by the enormity of what they are about to do, and she holds out her hand.


End file.
